


She Doesn't Knock On The Door Anymore

by HK44



Series: Poetry [2]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Poetry, poem, silly little poem i did, through times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:42:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4829561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HK44/pseuds/HK44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love you,” he vows under black silk sheets.</p><p>“Naturally,” she laughs under flower-print blankets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Doesn't Knock On The Door Anymore

She doesn’t knock on the door anymore,

Like she did once

Up on a time

When this world was new

And she was young,

Her mother’s whispered stories echoing

In her ear

As she pressed a nervous hand

Into a fist

And rapped it against the door.

Instead she smiles wide and

Barges through

Into the darkness.

This world is her own.

_“Come with me,” he begs._

_“Let me think about it,” she replies._

__

He’s there,

Moody,

Brooding,

Eyes downcast,

Glancing at the clock then his watch

As though

Begging

Time to go faster,

And she laughs to herself,

Eyes aglow

As his face droops with every passing second,

The weight of misery hanging heavily on

His shoulders,

Almost as if he’s carrying the weight of the

World.

_“I miss you,” his letter reads._

_“Good,” she writes back._

Many are unfaithful

And he is part of that group,

(She is too.)

Though she does not mind.

Their dark eyes mimic his

And she wraps them up

In flowers

And sunshine,

Protecting them with sharp rose thorns

From monsters

And other evil.

It’s fine.

Besides, sex is amazing

And six months without it

Sounds like torture.

_“Do you mind?” he mumbles into her skin._

_“No. As long your women are consenting,” she teases into his hair._

She steps into the garden

Of jewels,

Caressing a crystal apple

With fair fingertips.

Modern traditions are the best.

She places a black tablecloth

Down

And tiptaps her fingers

On the buttons

Of the player,

Flopping over his

Knees,

Accidentally knocking her feet

Into his teeth.

He huffs

But smiles back at her humbled apologies and

Kisses each toe

Until the movie starts.

_“I love you,” he vows under black silk sheets._

_“Naturally,” she laughs under flower-print blankets._

 


End file.
